Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..

by Taylor, Winchcombe

  To indulge him. Ram tried to draw a thread from his shirt. But he was clumsy and whenever he found a free end, it broke off too short. He tried his breeches, but the wool was too finely woven.

  "Aie, I shall be shamed when we get free!" Baja chuckled. "I'll have no dhoti left. Here's a thread. Use it gently."

  But for pride's sake Ram had to find his own. He examined his long waistcoat; its pocket flaps were fringed with gold lace and stiffened with buckram—coarse linen impregnated with gum.

  "See!" Baja exulted. "And this after only an hour's work." A thin bright mark showed on the hasp.

  Encouraged, Ram unraveled some strands of lace. Being fine-drawn metal they were far stronger than thread, though dust did not adhere to them so well. But he set to work.

  "Three months, and we'll be free," Baja predicted happily.

  "Three months? But what of your scout friends? Surely they won't let you rot here while Khafi Khan and Jakes lord it over them?"

  "Didn't you give me the diamond?" Baja countered. "Suraya Rao, the gossein, and two more left last night, bound for a certain gem merchant in Delhi. None of my brothers remains here."

  "Brothers?"

  "By vow only. Whence think you I had wealth enough to buy cannon? I'm one of a band in which all contribute to the common good."

  So that's why the scouts served only under him. Ram realized; why the gossein was at the temple and those others that night at the rest house!

  "Khafi Khan also took the oath to Bhowani, holy wife of Siva, yet he's betrayed us!" Baja cried. "His end will be terrible!"

  By nightfall, Ram could barely move his wrists, but Baja insisted they start on the window facing the street. So, leaning half bent against the wall, he supported Baja while he began to file. They rested, then Ram mounted. His wire strands wore out quickly and seemed barely to scratch the first bar. Yet both men worked at it in turns until dawn.

  Each noon the jailer brought food, let them into the yard to relieve themselves, breathe the hot moist air and hobble around for exercise. Then he bolted them in again until the next day. Convinced now about threads. Ram had already used up the gold lace from the flap of one pocket and had begun on the other. There were deep grooves in their hasps and a bar of the window was half cut through. Each dawn they filled the cuts with mixed ghee and dust in case the bars were examined.

  The monsoon broke at last, and with the first deluge they became lightheaded with relief. But there were penalties: When they were let out for exercise they were soaked instantly, and soon the yard was so flooded their latrine overflowed and the polluted water invaded most of their cell.

  Yet Baja's spirits soared; he even became speculative, "Bhaee, what would you do if you achieved great wealth? Would you return to your fine home and live as a great amir?"

  The questions seemed so ludicrous that Ram chuckled and entered into the game. "No, I wouldn't live at home. I'd buy a regiment of my own and perhaps become the general my father predicted I would be."

  "But you'd marry at last and breed fine young warriors, eh?"

  Marry? While he loved Chanda so? Never! Yet what would he do? Suddenly he remembered his old plan, one surely the Maratha would appreciate. "Perhaps one day, but first I would perform a deed of vengeance. My father was murdered; I saw his death. The man who killed him was the emissary of a king, though a false one, and so this man was protected by his mission."

  "Surely you could have had him followed and killed later?" Baja suggested. "That would be my way."

  "It's not the way of my race, Bajaji. No, I myself must settle the matter. I was but a boy then, and this man was an expert swordsman. Now I am grown and have proved I can kill with the sword fairly. So, when I can I must seek out my enemy and kill him also, but fairly."

  "You are not full grown," Baja retorted. "If you were, you would not risk your life, but pay others to kill for you. Wah, you showed bravery in slaying Ritter Sahib, but it was the act of an immature boy, not of a grown man."

  "I tell you I must do it myself!" Ram grew angry. "I must pass my sword through his heart, as he did his through my father's."

  Then, his half-forgotten hatred spent, he laughed at the absurdity of his hopes of even leaving this cell alive, much less of returning to Europe and seeking out the unknown Irishman.

  But Baja nodded. "Indeed you Feringis have different ways of thinking than we men of Hind. Tell me, why is it that when you saved me in that bazaar you didn't even ask why I was attacked?"

  "You'd have told me had you wished me to know. I saw only one against ten, and I was mounted, with soldiers." Ram shrugged, but his curiosity quickened.

  "In each man's life are things best forgotten, yet sometimes they must be told," Baja said softly. "I'm a grandson of a great king, yet from childhood I've been a wanderer, doing my share of strange deeds. Sivaji left my uncle Sambhaji a vast empire, but he was too slothful to hold it. Yet he so feared being supplanted, he ordered all males of the blood royal to be murdered. My mother, warned in time, fled with me and for years we lived in a far village. When she died, a holy man took compassion on me and taught me the Vedas and much of our Brahmin lore. He wished me to become a guru also, but my blood was stirring. I had to be worthy of my breed.

  "A swaggering soldier came to the village, recruiting men for a campaign. I was mad to go with him, so I stole my gurus all and marched off behind the fine horseman. He was a Pindaree and soon I was his most trusted follower, with men under me. I dreamed of reconquering Sivaji's empire. But there was a battle and we were beaten. I was lucky to escape." He hesitated. "Bhaee, there's a brotherhood, spread all over Hind, a select band that worships at the feet of Bhowani."

  "You mean Thugee—the Brotherhood of Thugs?"

  "Yes. I became one of the initiated. Wah, few can handle a roomal as I! When my cloth's around a neck, I never fail. Dozens of men and women have I strangled before they even knew death was near."

  Ram shuddered. He could stand much, but. .. !

  "Arre, why not? Was I not a devotee of Bhowani? Besides, I gained much wealth. Too, I never harmed the lame or the sick—only the hale are worthy of becoming Bhowani's victims."

  Sickened, Ram recalled Chanda's insistence that Baja was evil. Hadn't her parents been murdered by Thugs? Ecod, Baja might have been one of that very band!

  Baja resumed: "I became a leader. Each season we'd start out, making friends with travelers. Sometimes, when there were many, we'd pass off as soldiers returning to duty and offer to protect them from robbers. Then, in some lonely spot, I'd give the signal. Pan laol In an instant they'd be dead. After they'd been buried and the loot gathered, we'd decamp to seek new prey. It was a fine life, but not for one of Sivaji's blood."

  Ram demanded hoarsely: "You're still Thugs, you and the others?"

  "Yes. So is Khafi Khan—may his soul fester! But we don't practice our art now. Haven't I said I dream of kingdoms? Besides, there was an unhappy accident. We were escorting some rich Patna merchants and I'd planned everything to the last detail. We'd reached the spot and I gave the signal, at the same instant slipping my roomal around a fat Bengali's neck.

  "It was the boaster Khafi Khan who failed. He was slow and his victim slashed him with a dagger, then ran, screeching for help. Even so our swiftest runners might have caught him, but perhaps we hadn't sacrificed sufficiently to Bhowani, for some Moslem cavalry were coming from the opposite direction. Those accursed cow-eaters, they were fiends, riding us down, hacking, stabbing! I saved myself by hiding in a ditch, and only eight others escaped.

  "Always part of our loot had been held back for emergencies. I decided to use it to re-establish Sivaji's glory. I'd heard of the terrible Feringi soldiers who always scattered the Mogul's troops. It was said one white sepoy was worth a hundred Hindus. Why? I don't believe

  in magic; if Feringis are so powerful, there's reason. So when your new company was building a fort, I went there."

  Ram didn't hear cloth being torn, for he was feeling sick. This Mara
tha, whom he'd grown to love, a Thug!

  "I'd have learned much, but for that soor Ritter. And when I took refuge in the bazaars, intending to watch the fort's building from afar, who should open a shop but the very one who'd escaped Khafi Khan's roomall Recognizing me, he hired men to kill me. You saved me, bhaee, and by Sivaji's beard I'll repay you."

  Something closed around Ram's neck. Blood drummed in his ears as he struggled for air; but then, mercifully, the pressure eased.

  "Wah, my hand hasn't lost its cunning!" Baja exulted. "A small tightening then and you'd have died without knowing it."

  "God damn ye for a treacherous bastard!" Ram spluttered in English. Then in Hindustani: "Do you repay me by strangling me?"

  "It is repayment to teach one not of the Brotherhood how to use the roomal. I've not told my tale idly. What if sharp eyes discover our work, what if we're separated? So long as we're left with dhotis to cover our private parts we have weapons, for roomals are but pieces of cloth, yet with them we could kill scores."

  So, in addition to filing and hearing tales of Thug life, Ram learned how to use a roomal—a. waistcoat button tied at one end of the cloth instead of the usual small coin. So adept did he become that once only Baja's spasmodic jerking warned him to release the pressure in time.

  "Arrc, I'm no wealthy merchant!" the "victim" gasped. "It would be bad to slay me, for it needs two of us to make an escape."

  Forty days had gone before Ram had the urge to look again through the window facing the palace.

  "I've stared through the other so long, I know every crack and flake in the outside wall," he told Baja. "From this one at least I can ?ee the palace dome. Come, bend."

  But, stretch as he did, he could not see over the inner wall there, and he was about to slide down Baja's already sagging back when he heard a wailing cry come from somewhere near by.

  "Wait!" Again the cry, fretful, weak. By twisting his head, he could see a window to his left. Another cell? He heard a woman's

  soothing voice and his heart almost stopped. Chanda? Could she be there, with his baby? But then he cursed. The child was not due for months yet—if Chanda still lived. Who then?

  When he got down and reported, Baja's eye narrowed. "Perhaps a palace concubine or—Bend, and let me up." When he was up, he craned. Soon he called softly, waited, repeated his call. His toes worked impatiently on Ram's back. Then he was speaking with someone, quietly but with growing excitement. At last he slid down.

  'The Ranee—the widow of Pratap Mohite—she's been there since we took the town! She has her two girl babes with her, but one she thinks is dying." He clanked up and down impatiently. "Wah, Pratap had no son as heir, so she must rule. Bhaee, we must rescue her! Best the babes die, but she must be saved."

  Ram laughed. The idea of saving anyone in their own desperate plight! "Surely it's time your brothers were back from selling the diamond?" he asked. "Will they let you rot here forever?"

  "Bhaee, you're so young! With the rains, they won't hasten, knowing there's no taking the field till the grass is up. And when they learn the truth, they are but men and, save for the rare few, men obey those in power. Uzoor Singh is brave, yet he's done nothing to save us. Come, file."

  By now all the lace had gone and they were using the buckram. Both men were suffering, Ram especially, from denying themselves the fatty ghee that should have sustained their strength. Ram's shirt had long since gone and his breeches were noisome, since his shackles prevented his taking them off, but at least they reminded him that he was still a European officer. He had sprouted a thin, silky beard and his hair, now hanging far below his shoulders, was blackened by dirt and sweat and was alive with vermin.

  Each day Baja climbed up to exchange cautious words with the Ranee. The sick child died and the other ailed; she herself was sick and without hope, though she was not treated with special severity— merely neglected. The deaf-mute was her jailer also.

  "She's no longer fat," Baja chuckled. "But she will be again, when Tve raised her to the throne and stand at her side."

  "You mean you'd marry her?"

  "Perhaps. But as her dewan I'd have more real power. Still, she's borne two daughters, so maybe it's time for a son." He grinned. "My

  son—great-grandson of Sivaji! I'll rear him as a warrior, far-seeing and wily. Then I'll make alliances with princes and absorb them adroitly, until my domain runs where Sivaji's once did. We'll even destroy you Feringis, for all your drilled troops." Squatting impatiently, he drew a thread up and down under a hasp.

  By the time the rains ended, late in September, Ram's greatest fear was that the cuts might be noticed by the jailer or that a hasp should snap while they were exercising in the yard.

  "Work at the window," Baja urged. "If Khafi Khan succeeds, our death is certain. But if he fails, Dadaji will reinstate us."

  "I'll never serve that soor again!" Ram growled. "I remember how he killed Rajah Pratap."

  Baja glanced at him. "I tried to warn you that day, but foolishly you showed your disgust."

  "You mean, that's why we're here?"

  "I'm here because Khafi Khan, having once failed me, now hates me. You perhaps because Jakes Topchi hates you since he's only the mud under your feet. Tell me, how shall you kill him?"

  "If he's murdered Chanda, I'll roast him alive!" Ram snarled.

  "You see? Dadaji hated Pratap Mohite, so he had him stamped to death by a hathi, which is a common way to execute criminals. Yet you'd burn Jakes Topchi, which we do only to our revered dead."

  "All right, what do you intend for Khafi Khan?"

  Briefly the other's eye flashed. "That soft stomach of yours would turn at the thought. Besides, I want to nurse my plan, to fondle it. Wah, Khafi Khan will not like it!"

  Three nights later, as Ram worked at the window Baja, overstrained, collapsed under his weight. To save himself. Ram grabbed the grille and something gave. Feehng Baja's support under him once more, he peered at the bars.

  One had parted.

  He slid down and rolled on the floor, mad with joy. "We've won!"

  "Not while we're shackled!" Baja objected. "All's lost if the break's noticed. Work hhaee, work!"

  But, strain as they would, they could not break their weakened hasps. They tried working together, but only bruised each other fruitlessly. Whimpering, Ram strove to force one end of his connect-

  ing bar into a hasp. The hnks of the chain obstructed it, but at last something gave. He jerked desperately and the hasp broke.

  At the same time Baja squealed. He had smeared ghee on his left foot and, because of his terrible emaciation, it slid free. "To think, I might have done that long since!" he groaned. But when he tried his right he only bruised his arch uselessly.

  But each now had a leg free and they could use the opened shackles to hammer the remaining hasps. At last they stood free, top-heavy because of the unfamiliar lightness of their lower limbs. Ram wept.

  "Up!" Baja cried, bending. "Your weight's greater than mine. One bar's broken; you can break more."

  Using his connecting bar as a fulcrum. Ram jerked and strained. Another bar gave, a third. Then he was flat on the floor, the entire grille clutched in his hands. For a little he lay stunned.

  "Up and off with your unclean Feringi clothes!" Baja was shaking him. "You must be a holy gossein. Quickly, I must smear you with dust and ghee."

  By the waning moonlight Baja smeared him all over. "This isn't so neat as at Puri; indeed, you'll be somewhat piebald. Now, you must always keep repeating those Vedic verses I taught you, that all be impressed by your hoHness. I, your acolyte, will beg for you and interpose myself before those who approach you. Wah, you are most holy!"

  They rested, steeling themselves for the effort ahead. At last they drank their remaining water, ate a chupatti each. His head aching and his stomach in knots, Ram dutifully mumbled the Vedic prayer while watching for the first streaks of dawn. The town gates would not open until sunrise.

  "Now, get your legs t
hrough the casement!" Baja quavered. "When you're halfway out, pull me up." He offered his back.

  The window was only a foot square, but not too small for these starvelings. By wriggling and hauling they both reached the outside and faced the last obstacle, the outer wall. Ram mounted to its wide top and dangled a leg for Baja to mount by. Together they lay on the top, scanning the empty street.

  "It grows light," Baja breathed. "Come!" Side by side they dropped.

  Free!

  "Ashes!" Baja gathered some to smear over Ram's hair and body. "The more, the hoHer a gossein is." Like a gamin, he pounced upon piles of stinking refuse. From one he retrieved a small chipped earthenware pot. "Our begging bowl."

  They shuffled west along the street, which gave onto the empty market place. People were appearing; dogs nosed refuse and cows moved ponderously, leaving green-brown droppings in their wake.

  "Keep chanting!" Baja hissed. He took the lead, offering his bowl to such wayfarers as could not avoid him.

  Crossing the square, they entered the street that led to the west gate. More people, mounted and afoot. Ram kept up the chant and Baja proffered the bowl with a true mendicant's whine. It already had a few pice in it and one child added a peach—which Baja promptly ate. Then they reached the gate. Ram's heart pounded.

  There was no cause for alarm. None of the sleepy-eyed guards spared a second look at the emaciated mat-haired gossein with the straggly beard or at his smaller one-eyed disciple.

  Not until they were a full coss along the main road did Baja sigh with relief and sink down at the verge. "And now—the Ganesha!"

  They had talked of it so much that Ram had grown to think it was something he had merely imagined. Now it was real again. If really of gold, it could repurchase the loyalty of many men.

  "It's a two-day walk," he warned, regretting his fine Arabs. They struck north across the fields to a village, where Baja coaxed a bowl of rice and pickles from a woman. Ram blessed her and she flushed with pleasure, while the baby at her breast regarded him with huge feo/iZ-rimmed, incurious eyes.